Storm Damage

I held Hetterford’s body in my arms and sobbed. His soft, grey fur soaked up my hysterical tears. With his death, it felt as if all the goodness had left my world.

It was no illness or accident that killed my little, feline friend. He had been dispatched with a lightning bolt to his heart.

My father was the one who had done it. The Storm of Storm Inc. killed my cat because I dared disagree with him on a matter relating to the family business. Dad ruled my brothers and I ruthlessly. He was The Storm and he didn’t care who he hurt. No one would ever dare to try and hold him accountable. Being able to create thunder and lightning made him untouchable. Not even the World Weather Workers could do anything.

Why had I thought he would treat me any differently to my siblings?

But, Hetterford had been a gift from him for my 18^th birthday. That should have made him kinder towards the cat. Clearly, it did not.

 His words were still ringing . “Vespa! No one argues with me. This is your punishment.” He pointed his finger.  Hetterford spasmed then collapsed.

The idea developed as I sat on the floor, cuddling Hetterford. There would be harsh consequences whether I succeeded or failed. Failing meant my life, like Hetterford’s,  would be over. That did not worry me. Success, and I would spend a long time in prison.

“Act now.” It felt like the air was whispering to me, crackling with electrical energy. “You, too, are a Storm.”

I carried the bundle of furry heartbreak into my bedroom. There was a boot box by the door. I laid Hetterford in it. Even retreating back one step from him caused me to double up in grief.

The boots which had been in the box, best Italian leather, were soon on my feet. I wrapped my lambswool coat over my shoulders and checked my attire. Yes, I looked the part, if anyone cared. Rich woman, living a life of luxury, all her whims met, not a care in the world. Nothing in my appearance suggested my father was a murderer and I was about to follow him down that evil path.

The orange light from the window said the sun had just set. Darkness was already falling. I needed to leave now.

I picked up Hetterford’s little coffin. Its weight brought a fresh bout of tears. As I carried him to the front door, I heard a giggle from the lounge. Dad was entertaining a woman who was younger than me. I wanted to vomit.

From the steps of the house, I could see my destination, just down the road. The premises of Storm Inc. were black silhouettes against the darkening sky. A few eager stars were growing visible on the horizon. No one was around. Those working for the business had finished for the day. Dad only created a finite number of lightning bolts at a time, therefore hours at the business were fixed. No one needed to work during the night. Even the cleaners went through in the mornings.

My boot heels clicked softly on the roadway as I walked toward the darkened buildings. The silence of the evening steadied me, the weight of the box in my arms fortified me, and the memory of what I had just witnessed hardened me.

A security light clicked on as I reached the towering offices where all the sales and administration duties were done. It did not matter. No guard was going to question my presence. I was, after all, his daughter and a thunder-maker in my own right.

Behind the huge front of Storm Inc. were the warehouses. There were seven of these, lined up from smallest to largest going away from the towering building. The one I wanted was neither of the end ones. It was number three; the one most visitors never noticed.

The impressive looking lock undid itself when I touched it. Again, being family meant I had access everywhere.

Flat boxes, from matchbox to mattress-sized, graced racks of shelves the entire length of the warehouse. The other warehouses were set out the same. Fluorescent lights came on to illuminate the aisles. They were necessary day and night as there were no windows. This warehouse was one of the originals, built back a millennium ago.

Security cameras blinked their red lights at me.

This was the first time I had been in the warehouse alone. During daylight hours stores people bustled methodically, moving the boxes to fill orders so they could be dispatched around the world. Their work meant the boxes were always being shifted. Stock rotated. The one I was thinking of would not be where I last saw it.

The heels of my boots clacked loudly on the concrete floor. This was likely to be the first and last time I wore them. Dad had bought them. Their box was growing heavy in my grip. Hetterford weighed nearly eight kilograms.

My search was not as painful as I feared. The box I wanted was on a low shelf, halfway down the second aisle. I triple checked the label. T12L28. I wanted this box specifically. It had some of my handiwork in it. When activated, it would not be a big storm but very localised and with a real punch.

As I closed and relocked the warehouse door, I turned so the security camera could capture a clear image of my face. There was going to be no doubt for anyone, just who had made this theft.

Carrying two boxes proved heavy and awkward. Weight training was not part of my fitness regime. I could not take them any distance. There was a pretty tree at the back of the warehouses. It would be perfect to sit under its branches while letting off the deadly fireworks.

There were 12 peels of thunder in the stolen box. My lips twitched. They were beautifully crafted, but, more than that, they were so like Dad’s he would not notice my signature on them. He had a woman visiting. Often, as early entertainment, he made thunder in the bedroom. These would simply blend with his own noise.

The 28 lightning strikes were what I was going to use to kill the head of Storm Inc, my father, and murderer of an innocent cat.

Hetterford was my breaking point but he was not the first pet Dad had dispatched. My three older brothers had been disciplined in the same way as me. Why I had hoped I would be treated differently, that was an unanswerable question.

Sinister rumours persisted about people who had earned his ire then disappeared. My mother and youngest brother were two of those. While I knew where Mum was, hiding from Dad, I had heard nothing about Flame.

It was dark under my tree. I watched as the automated security lights turned off around the buildings. When the only specks of light remained came from the stars, I slipped the lid off the boot box. My fingers were shaking as I touched the body of Hetterford. I was grateful for the darkness. Seeing him would break me so deeply I would not be able to act. His fur was cold, like iced velvet.

I sniffed and blinked away the tears. Then, still in contact with Hetterford, I allowed my focus to move towards the dark hulk of a building that was the family home. Prickles ran along my shoulders. Yes, Dad was making thunder in his bed tonight.

I heard the loud roll and grimaced. I hated being in the same house as that noise. But, now was not a time for reflection. The thunder was my signal to act. Dad was busy with his girlfriend and not thinking of his mousy daughter.

I pulled the contents of the Storm box onto my lap and allowed my consciousness to sink into them. Except for touching Hetterford, I became one with the storm.

Another roar emitted from the house and I fired the storm. Thunder that left my ears ringing, rolled all around me and the sky flashed white as all 28 lightning strikes hit the physical heart of their creator.

The prickles that had, earlier, run across my shoulders now filled my body. My blood seemed to fizz. I had been successful; of that I was certain. Each lightning bolt had done its part in ripping my father’s life out of him; just like the one that ripped Hetterford’s spirit away.

Now, I was to wait. It did not matter what happened to me. Dad would hurt no one again.

Silence and darkness settled back in. It was peaceful. Unfortunately, it was also a bit cold. My body kept up the prickling sensation, long after the shocking energy had been expended. Still, there was no reason for me to move. I had just killed my father. Soon, I would be accused of murder. I was not going to deny it, nor defend my actions. I had done what was necessary.

An engine purred and tyres crunched on the asphalt. The noises brought me out of my reverie. A company car was approaching. I opened my eyes as it drew up beside where I sat. The driver ensured the passenger side was closest to me.

Thomas, ageless Thomas, every bit the prim and proper chauffeur, got out and walked around the car. He opened the rear passenger door.

“Miss Storm.” His voice wrapped around me. I felt safe.

I slipped my hand out from Hetterford’s box and put the lid on properly. My body crackled, as if on fire, as I moved. It was not unpleasant, just odd.

Thomas reached out to take the box, then hesitated, “Hetterford?”

I nodded and he dropped his hands. Thomas knew what Hetterford meant to me. I put the box on the seat next to me. Thomas closed the door.

I looked forward and saw, through the windscreen, pink tinging the eastern horizon. I was surprised I had sat for so long. As my mind began to function, I became aware of another thing. There were no police cars.

The journey was short. It would have been nearly as quick to walk. Thomas pulled up outside the office block, then came around to open the door for me. My face did not know what expression to wear. Being treated like a star was not what I expected of consequences.

Although it was still early morning, there were Storm Inc employees standing outside. They were all staring at me. A couple who I recognised gave timid smiles. Were they afraid of me? Or was it an unprecedented level of respect?

I picked Hetterford up and walked towards the massive entrance. My boots rang against the marble stairs.

The strange crackling in my body continued at a quiet pace. What I had thought to be a reaction to the cold of the night was something different. It was the residue of my crime. It took Dad hours to pull in enough power to create one bolt of lightning. I had discharged 28 of them.

There was still no sign of the police, no sirens, nothing to say murder. The staff, lined up, looked more like mansion staff waiting to welcome the owner home. Only Thomas was acting as per normal. He walked beside me. He would have taken Hetterford, if I asked, but I was not ready to give up the responsibility of my cat.

Thomas did leave my side briefly, to go ahead, so he could hold the glass door open for me. He then gestured to me to carry on through the lobby to the elevator. My eldest brother, Flash, was standing there, holding that door open. His smile was open. My boots echoed as I walked through the silent area.

Two more sets of footsteps joined mine. I was being followed across the lobby. It was then that I realised, Thomas’s shoes barely whispered. At the elevator, I was finally able to turn and see who was behind me. It was my other two brothers; Kindle and Match.

They crowded in and the elevator doors closed. Flash punched the button for the top floor; the executive suite. My companions were silent. Usually, they joked constantly when we were together and we pushed each other about. Today they were keeping their distance. They knew what I had done, but they were right there beside me.

The executive suite: lavish offices with lots of tinted windows, and acres of carpet. Also, too much dark wood, stainless steel, and leather. This was not a place where I felt comfortable.

Thomas led us to the boardroom. At that moment, I wondered about our guide. He had always been there, from my first memories. He did not seem to age, and always had answers for us. It was logical to turn to him, but who was he?

We had to walk past Dad’s office. Glancing in there tensed me up. I hated that room with its huge desk and leather chair behind. I knew there were no photos of family. His children never counted for much.

Match closed the boardroom door behind us. I looked at the gleaming steel table dominating the space and placed Hetterford on its chill surface. We all stood for a moment. I was wondering what happened next. It seemed I was not about to be arrested and sent to jail. My siblings were going to choose my punishment.

Flash gave a bit of a cough to gain everyone’s attention. The crackling in my body heated up. I swallowed.

Flash smiled at me, “Vespa, there aren’t words. You succeeded where we all failed.”

I stared at him. He took off his jacket, then rolled up his shirt sleeve. Red, burn scars ran from his wrist to his elbow. My other brothers both repeated the action to reveal similar cruel marks. I glanced down at my own wrists. They were exactly the same as the day before.

“I killed him,” I whispered. “I committed murder.”

“We know. But don’t expect the police. No one else can prove a thing. And no one is going to try and arrest a person who can make lightning,” Flash reassured me.

Match spoke up. “Honey, Vespa, don’t you ever think of it as murder. You destroyed a monster. One, none of us could touch. He hurt so many people.”

“Hetterford,” I whispered as explanation, choking up.

My fingers nudged the lid of his box. I desperately wanted to touch him.

“And Slinky, and Max and Dodge.” My brothers listed other pets who had disappeared over the years.

“And young Flame,” Thomas added.

All of us turned to stare at him.

The words rolled in horror as they left my mouth. The windows rattled. “Flame? He killed Flame?”

Thomas stared at the floor.

Flame had been our youngest brother. He should have been here with us now.

“Thomas, who are you? You are close as family, but you aren’t a relation. Are you an auditor?” The questions tumbled from my lips.

“Yes, Miss Storm. WWW sent me here to monitor the business.”

“Couldn’t you have intervened?”

Thomas shook his head. “I wanted to, but if I had managed to kill him, and that’s not likely, who would have taken his place? We need to have the storms that are produced here.”

While we spoke, I allowed myself the terrible pleasure of touching Hetterford’s fur. It felt different, sharper, like bristles. Tears welled in my eyes. My breath caught. My fingers trembled.

Except, I realised that the tremor did not originate with me. I gasped. This was not possible. I threw the lid off the box.

My cat, with eyes that were clearly not focused, was moving his head upward in extreme slow motion.

“Hetterford!” I screamed.

I stared down at what had to be impossible. Hetterford was dead.

“Miss Storm,” Thomas’s calm voice bit into my hysteria.

“Thomas, what’s happening?” I was crying as I watched my dead cat try and sit up.

“Miss Storm, were you touching Hetterford when you activated the lightning bolts?”

“Yes,” I gulped.

“Wow.” Flash spoke. “You really did it. The jolt must have been powerful enough to restart his heart. Like CPR.”

I kept looking at Hetterford. He managed to get one front paw beneath him and he pushed up. His body rose then crumpled back down. His little face looked, okay, shocked. He did not understand why his body was acting so strangely.

“Vespa, Sis, you do know what this means, don’t you?” Flash asked.

I looked at my eldest brother. His face kept blurring as tears surfaced and ran down my cheeks. I shook my head, wondering what he was talking about. Hetterford was alive but how badly was he damaged?

My cat lifted his paw again. He managed to give it a single lick before the effort was too much and he had to put it down. His head drooped. He rested his chin on that paw and closed his eyes. I could see the slight rise and fall of his ribcage. He was sleeping.

“Vespa, are you listening?” My bossy brother was demanding my attention. He was probably talking about Dad.

“I killed him,” I replied.

“Come on. You slayed a murderous monster no one else could touch. We’re all in your debt.”

That sounded too melodramatic for me. I had just killed the man who sired us.

“Not only are you a hero Ves, you’ve proved, with Hetterford, that you are The Storm,” Flash continued.

I looked up at that. “What!? The Storm? Me? Are you crazy?”

My brothers and Thomas were all looking at me.

Thomas answered. “It has been four generations since we had a true Storm at the head of the company. Only a Storm can use the weather to heal.”

He gave a small smile. “Welcome, Miss Storm. You are now our new CEO.”